


The Devil and the Angels

by elwon



Series: Volcano & Hurricane [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angels, Demons, Exorcists, M/M, jason has a bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 23:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwon/pseuds/elwon
Summary: “Did you need something, Sister?” Jason says idly, pretending to reread the funeral forms again, before flipping to the hymn list and sighing when he sees ‘Ave Maria’ for what feels like the 100th time this month.“For you to get up off your ass, Father.” Steph grins, pushing the kneelers towards him mischievously. Jason gives her a bland look in response. “I have a cunning plan. I want to set these kneelers out in a particular pattern and see how long it takes everyone to work out it’s a dirty word!” Steph drops her voice to a whisper as she finishes her sentence. Jason can’t help a conspiratorial grin himself as she sets them out so Jason can see the word spelt out.“You’re doing the Lord’s work, Sister Stephanie. I’m so glad you joined us here.” Jason grabs the kneelers and gets to work.





	The Devil and the Angels

Jason leans back in the pew, kicking his feet up to rest on the back of the bench in front of him. He lets his head loll back against the pillar behind him, enjoying that the shadows are soothing his hangover. Sunlight is pouring through the stained glass windows, leaving little pools of coloured light on the worn decorated tile of the main aisle of the church. He stares up at the closest window to him, taking in the little details of St George fighting the dragon. The plate armoured knight on rearing horseback is caught in constant eternal battle with the white dragon, his spear barely keeping the fierce, snarling wingless beast at bay. 

Jason’s always thought that the beatific look on his face didn’t fit with fighting for his life, but he supposes it’s less inappropriate than the window with St Sebastian. That one’s just downright pornographic. So naturally, it’s Jason’s favourite window out of all of them. There’s something in Sebastian’s face, maybe the shape, angle and shadows of it that reminds him of Dick. The fact that Jason’s favourite spot to relax in the church is right next to Sebastian’s window is neither here nor there, and if Jason’s being a cliché by having Sebastian as his favourite, well... there’s nothing wrong with that once in a while. 

Jason flicks through the papers for the funeral he’s been asked to take, attempting to look busy. Orders of service always take so long to put together. It’s for one of his regulars to his Tuesday 10am service. The old McNulty couple had always told him how much they liked his sermons, probably because Jason usually tries to keep them as short as possible. 

_(“Alright, looking at today’s readings, they’re way too fuckin’ long, so I’m gonna summarise for you. Bear with me. Basically, don’t be a douchebag. It’s really easy to not be a douchebag. Trying to be kind is best way to live. If you’ve gotta be a shit then at least apologise after. If you live your life like that then you’ll be a good person and therefore should end up in heaven._

_Any questions? No? Excellent. A-fuckin’-men.")_

He keeps them short partly because big public speeches that he has to write annoy the hell out of him, give him Shakespeare and he’ll recite it for ages, but having to write anything longer than a single paragraph and he starts to get frustrated. The other part is because it’s _hell_ on his throat, trying to project to the back of the church and still be loud and clear. At least with plays you get breaks when the other characters are speaking. No such luck with sermons. 

The McNultys were pretty much the exception to the rule, as most of the complaints about him that used to come in were always about his sermons. It’s why he no longer has to preach on Sundays, a ban that he’d been nothing but relieved about. And now he’s been requested to take the service for Mrs McNulty’s funeral. He’s going to have to walk the fine line between short and sweet that the old man wants and more polite than he usually is for the rest of the family. At least they’ve already chosen the hymns, so that’s one headache out of the way.

Father Alfred is taking confession today, so Jason is basking in the solitude that sitting in a mostly empty church brings. He basks right up until the moment that Drake walks by and trips up over the metal bucket and mop he’s been dragging around with him. Jason sighs, opening his eyes and trying not to glare at the kid. Drake bobs his head apologetically and grabs for the mop, righting it and checking that he’s not left a puddle of dirty water on the floor. Luckily for him he hasn’t, so he makes his way to the back of the church. 

Jason’s still not sure exactly what Alfred told the Diocese about Drake trying and succeeding to summon a demon, but what he does know is that instead of the expected punishment Drake should have received, he seems to be under some sort of internship programme at St Sebastian’s. He’s cleaner, altar boy, and unpaid assistant to Father Alfred as well, learning the slow way how to be an Exorcist. Jason’s not all that keen on having the kid around underfoot, but he supposes it’s better than being locked up in a Vatican jail or dead.

Sister Stephanie is also floating around in the vestry, having been accepted into the Exorcist’s programme. She’s officially shadowing Jason, but really she’s learning most of the basics from Alfred, by mutual agreement. Once Alfred feels she’s got a decent grip on self defence and protection, then she’ll go out in the field to train with Jason. He’s still got conflicted feelings about Steph becoming an Exorcist, but he’s been telling himself that there’s no one that Steph will be safer with than him. It’s working more than it isn’t to make Jason comfortable with the idea. 

Steph, at least, knows her way around the ins and outs of a church, and she’s made a pretty seamless transition into the team at St Sebastian’s. She still technically lives at the nearby convent with Sister Barbara and Sister Cassandra, but she’d been thrilled with the room at the Rectory that Jason and Alfred had set up for her. The big, bright smile on Steph’s face when she’d seen the light, airy room with the eggplant comforter on the bed had been worth the dusting down and the washing of the windows that Alfred had made Jason do earlier.

Jason’s drawn out of his musings by the second clattering noise of the day from Tim. He’s face down on the floor when Jason looks over, the mostly empty bucket overturned on its side and the mop wrapped around his ankles. Movement in the distance catches Jason’s eye and he realises that Drake must have tripped over his own feet at the sight of Steph. The boy’s mouth has dropped open and there’s a blush on his face. Jason can practically see the boy falling for her emotionally the way he has physically. Well, that crush isn’t going to be awkward or unrequited at all. Jason decides to take his own advice and be as nice as he can to the kid by telling Tim she’s a nun.

“Hate to break it to ya, kid, but she’s taken.” Jason says when Tim stumbles back his way.

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about? Who?” Tim blurts out, wincing as that was in no way convincing. He tightens his grip on the mop and bucket reflexively, one hand pulling at his t-shirt which took most of the brunt from the water spilling earlier.

“Sister Stephanie Brown. Is married to Jesus. Between you and the big guy, you’re gonna lose. Fair warning, kid, you’ll break your own heart going after her.” Jason waves his hand in Steph’s direction.

“She’s a nun? But she’s so pretty!” Tim says, a whine creeping into his voice and Jason raises an eyebrow. “I mean, not that nuns can’t be pretty! Or that young! I mean...” Drake clears his throat. “I mean, I will be nothing but respectful to the Sister. Thank you for telling me, Father. I could’ve made a real fool of myself.” Jason bites back a snort as Drake trudges past him, shoulders slumping with dejection, bucket and mop trailing after him. A few minutes later Steph wanders past, arms full of kneelers. She sets her burden down on the pew Jason’s sitting on and stands there, hands on hips and an expectant look on her face.

“Did you need something, Sister?” Jason says idly, pretending to reread the funeral forms again, before flipping to the hymn list and sighing when he sees ‘Ave Maria’ for what feels like the 100th time this month.

“For you to get up off your ass, Father.” Steph grins, pushing the kneelers towards him mischievously. Jason gives her a bland look in response. “I have a cunning plan. I want to set these kneelers out in a particular pattern and see how long it takes everyone to work out it’s a dirty word!” Steph drops her voice to a whisper as she finishes her sentence. Jason can’t help a conspiratorial grin himself as she sets them out so Jason can see the word spelt out.

“You’re doing the Lord’s work, Sister Stephanie. I’m so glad you joined us here.” Jason grabs the kneelers and gets to work.

***

The clinking of cutlery against crockery and the faintest chewing noises are the only sounds Jason can hear right now. Alfred’s sitting across from him at the kitchen table and they’re both so focused on the food in front of them that their usual idle supper chatter has been put aside to fully appreciate the meal that Jason’s cooked for them. He swipes at the few remaining traces of sauce with a slice of bread, cleaning his plate up well enough that you wouldn’t know it had been used if not for the slightest grease stains. 

He chomps through the slice of bread in three bites, eyes closing in bliss. He’s going to have to cook chicken satay noodles more often. It’s been a while since he truly felt the urge to eat, but he thinks if he drenches more of his food in satay sauce, he might actually manage to eat the kind of calorific requirements he really needs to do his job. Alfred hums happily, leaning back in his chair for a moment, before taking a sip of water. He politely puts his knife and fork together on his plate, before genteelly patting his stomach twice. Jason’s knife and fork, in contrast, are barely on the plate, haphazardly propped on the edge with the backs resting on the table top, and his glass of water has long since been emptied and forgotten.

“Well, my compliments to the chef. Perhaps you should cook more often, my boy. It’s rather nice to not be the one providing for once.” Alfred says, gathering Jason’s plate and stacking it on top of his own. “Or at the very least, give me that recipe.”

“I’m afraid I can’t share trade secrets, Father. I’ll be thrown out of the profession.” Jason grins, and Alfred gives him a fond eyeroll. “Besides, I’m enjoying having one thing that I can cook better than you! Don’t take that away from me.” Alfred swipes at him with a nearby dishcloth, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Although I’m not opposed to increasing that number.” Alfred puts the plates in the sink and starts clearing up the rest of the table, piling the water glasses into the sink and turning the taps on. A squirt of dish soap later and Alfred’s pulling on his apron and washing up gloves and grabbing the scrubbing brush from its place in the cutlery drying tray. Jason moves to help him and gets definitively gestured back. “Since you cooked, I shall wash up. Go and relax, young man. I daresay you deserve it after the week we’ve had.”

Jason thinks about arguing with Alfred, but honestly? Sitting in his favourite armchair and watching some mindless tv for a couple of hours sounds perfect right now. He must be getting old. Or maybe just overworked. Yeah, he’ll go with overworked. Glad that he washed up the cooking dishes before they sat down to eat, so at least Alfred only has to clean what’s in the sink, Jason gets up from the table and saunters the ten or so steps it takes to get to his favourite armchair, moving the extra six steps to switch on the tv and pick up the remote before collapsing into his chair and flicking through the channels to find something worth turning his brain off for. 

There’s a flicker of static on a local channel showing the news and Jason wonders if maybe the gigantic old tv set is finally on its last legs and can be replaced. He’s been trying to convince Alfred that it’s time to get a nice big fifty inch flatscreen. Or at least something newer than they have, something where the colour doesn’t fade off the screen at the corners and with better sound. Jason flicks through the channels to one of his favourites that generally shows old kung-fu movies from Hong Kong at this time of night. 

He shifts in his chair, propping his feet up on the foot rest in front of him and settling in for some balletic violence and skill. The screen flickers again, this time a face appearing momentarily in the static. Jason rubs at his eyes, wondering if he’s seeing things. The screen returns to the movie, and Jason decides that unless it happens again, then it’s just his tired eyes playing tricks on him. It doesn’t happen again until at least forty five minutes later, when Alfred’s deigned to join him in watching the movie and they’re picking apart the logic and the liberties taken with the historical period it’s set in with good humour. This time it looks as if there are two faces in the static, and Jason turns to ask Alfred if he’s seeing it too. 

“Oh dear. That doesn’t bode well.” Alfred says before Jason can actually speak, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Are you seeing the faces too, or are you just admitting we need to replace the tv?” Jason waves at the ancient set, and gets a chill down his spine as the faces turn to each other, their mouths opening and shutting in a silent conversation. He knows the wards at St Sebastian’s blocked out all demons, so the thought that there are beings powerful enough to mess with them inside their sanctuary is... a lot terrifying, to be honest. 

“There is nothing wrong with the television set, my boy. It’s older than you are and chances are will continue for years to come.” The unspoken ‘longer than you will’ is not lost on Jason. Alfred turns to him with a look on his face that Jason can’t quite decipher. “I am, in fact, seeing the faces. It would appear we will be having some angelic intervention in the coming days. One can only hope their sojourn here will be brief.” Jason realises that look is worry mixed with fear. It’s not a look that Jason’s ever seen on Alfred’ face before and he has no idea how to feel about that knowledge that Alfred is scared. Of angels. 

How does Alfred even know that the faces in the static are angels anyway? Jason knows there’s a lot about his life that Alfred’s never told him, things like how he became an Exorcist, what his service in British Military Intelligence really involved, how he even ended up in the States in the first place. Things that Jason has asked Alfred, but always got the answer ‘I’ll tell you in due course, young man. When we’re both ready’ in reply rather than any actual information. Apparently Jason can include angels as a thing he didn’t know. Angels. Of all fucking things. 

Jason stares at Alfred the same way he did back at the old Mason place, the very first time he learnt that the world was much more unsafe than he ever knew it could be. Jason had always thought that humans were bad enough to each other, but learning that demons existed and they wanted to bring hell to earth was a revelation in so many ways, none of them good. Alfred’s never been scared of demons, but if he’s scared of angels, then just how terrifying are _they_? 

***

Jason’s leaning against the lychgate, having a furtive cigarette break and leaving Alfred to deal with both Stephanie and Tim’s very different questions about life as an Exorcist, when Dick sidles up to him looking uncharacteristically nervous. 

“Oh. You’re already here. That’s... That’s good.” Dick says, his hesitation obvious in how he stops just out of arm’s reach. “I wanted to talk to you about. Well, needed to talk to you, more like. About. About Damian’s dad.” Jason inhales on his cigarette and gives Dick the best blank look he can muster, before exhaling slowly, watching the smoke curl up and drift off into the night sky. The glow of Dick’s eyes flares, and while Jason usually associates that flaring with lust or amusement, this time it seems to be more than nerves. First Alfred and his angels, and now Dick with Damian’s dad.

“OK.” Jason says slowly. He gestures with his free hand for Dick to continue.

“OK? Man, you’re not making this easy for me, are you?” Dick sighs, stepping closer and leaning his hip against the gate, hand resting mere centimetres from Jason’s. Jason’s hand twitches with the urge to close the gap and feel the heat of Dick’s skin on his own. He grips the gate a little harder instead.

“I’m not sure what you were expecting, Dickie. I have no idea why you’d suddenly need to talk about Damian’s dad. Unless he somehow made it topside, but there’s no way that happened.” Jason snorts, amused at the idea. Dick doesn’t reply and keeps not replying until Jason looks up at him, and sees the ‘caught in the headlights’ look on his face. “Damian’s dad is topside. How the hell did that happen?”

“I honestly don’t know? He didn’t really share the finer details when I saw him earlier. I came to warn you that he’s here.” Dick looks away, taking a deep breath before looking back at Jason. “I don’t know why he’s here, but you need to stay away from him. He won’t just wipe the floor with you, Jay, he’ll kill you without blinking. Please tell me you’ll stay away and stay safe for once? Please?”

“You want me to not do my job?” Jason says, his voice coming out flat and tired and more gravelly than usual instead of incredulous. “Come on, Dick, you know I can’t tell you I’ll stay away. I go where I’m ordered. Wherever I’m needed. You know I’m gonna have to report this to my superiors.”

“I know, I know. But I had to try. You get that, right?” Dick sighs, resigned to Jason’s stubbornness.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re just looking out for me. I get it. I appreciate it, even.” Jason pushes back from the gate, standing up straight. “But I can’t do it, baby. I took vows and I won’t let my people down. I can promise I won’t be stupid enough to go up against him alone, though. That’s about all I can give you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say. I’d expect nothing less from you, Jay.” Dick smiles ruefully at him and Jason feels his heart constrict in his chest. For a few heartbeats breathing is excruciating. Dick steps in closer to be directly in front of him, leaning in so that their chests are touching every time Jason breathes in. He tucks his head down into the space between Jason’s jaw and shoulder, the unnatural heat of his breath ghosting against Jason’s neck. 

Dick’s hand trails down Jason’s arm to his hand and plucks the cigarette from his fingers, lifting his head to look at the finished butt, dropping it to the ground, his body shifting as he grinds it under his heel. He twines his fingers around Jason’s now unoccupied hand, squeezing gently when Jason spreads his fingers to allow Dick better access. Dick rests his forehead against Jason’s and the soft glow of Dick’s eyes becomes Jason’s world until it becomes too much and Jason has to let his eyes slip shut. 

Jason’s lips barely skim over Dick’s, but it’s enough to provoke a pleased sigh from Dick, and Jason can’t help but let a small smile tug at his mouth. He lifts his free arm to wrap around Dick’s waist, tenderly holding him close, despite the gate between them, or maybe because of it. 

“You know, I was actually smoking that, right?” Jason fake grumbles into the smooth skin of Dick’s cheek.

“I know. But I have much better things for your mouth to be doing that sucking on a cigarette.” Dick grins, licking at Jason’s lips, light and quick. 

“Do you mean praying? Because I definitely should be doing that. It’s in the job description and everything.” Jason teases and Dick gives an annoyed huff.

“I was thinking along the lines of more blasphemous acts. Something to really scandalise your elderly parishioners.” Dick purrs, trailing a finger up Jason’s spine. 

“But it would still involve sucking if that makes you more interested.”

“Contrary to belief, it’s surprisingly hard to scandalise most of our elderly congregation. They’ve been around, seen a lot.” Jason grins, thoroughly enjoying the way Dick’s eyes flash in amusement and frustration.

“Jay. Jason... If I wasn’t already dead, I’d be dying of blue balls here.” Dick pouts, looking up at Jason through his lashes.

“Well, at least they match your fingers?” Jason says, trying to keep a straight face and failing when Dick groans pitifully.

***

Jason wakes up, head pounding sharply. He starts to shift, only to realise that his hands are tied behind his back tightly. He cracks open his eyes, wincing at the bright beam of sunlight that greets them. Once his eyes adjust, he can see he’s in an empty warehouse. It’s not one he’s familiar with because this one has skylights in the roof, leading the place to be bright and airy in a strangely welcoming way. Jason’s guns are in view, half way down the warehouse, and utterly out of his reach. Which is in no way worrying, no, not at all. Being defenceless and vulnerable is just fine by Jason.

Jason uses his legs to twist over onto his back and sit up, resting his back on the wall behind him. He breathes in deeply for several moments, trying to get his aching head under control. The last thing he remembers is leaving St Sebastian’s and walking around the corner to the bodega to buy another packet of cigarettes after realising that he’d run out. He’d heard footsteps behind him and was about to turn around when he’d been struck in the head. He blows out the breath he’d been holding and tries to work out who would want to kidnap a priest. The answer comes in the form of yelling as his captors walk through the door, obviously at odds with each other. 

“You can’t be serious, Bruce! Have you any idea the amount of trouble you’re about to bring down on us?” Dick yells, angry but contained. “You can’t just kidnap an Exorcist!” Dick. What the fuck? Why is he on first name terms with Jason’s kidnappers. Damian is with them and promptly takes off to the other end of the warehouse to start stabbing and slashing at a concrete pillar with a wicked looking sword.

“If you’d corrupted him the first time like you were supposed to, this wouldn’t have been necessary.” Bruce huffs. “It’s beyond time for you to come home. If you won’t return without him then just corrupt him now so we can all leave.” Jason stares in shock at the malevolent aura pouring from the large form that Dick’s arguing with. Bruce is a hulking beast of a man shaped demon, a full foot taller than Dick, with batwings that put Dick’s to shame in every way. His horns reach straight up, their razor sharp edges seeming to cut the very air around them. Despite all that, he’s wearing what looks like an expensive grey pinstripe business suit. Jason instinctively tries to reach for his guns, and bites his lip to stop himself from cursing out loud when he remembers they’re the other side of the warehouse. “I didn’t crawl through that summoning circle for Damian alone.”

“You know, this sort of overbearing, micromanaging behaviour is exactly why I left Hell without telling you I was going. I want to do this _my_ way.” Dick snarls, turning on his heel suddenly and stomping over to where Jason’s propped up against the wall. 

“Hhrrmm.” Is Bruce’s only response to Dick’s outburst. The greater demon stalks off to join Damian at the other end of the warehouse.

“I’m so sorry about this, Jay, I can’t believe he kidnapped you.” The upset look on Dick’s face twists with either relief or worry when he realises that Jason’s awake. 

“I suppose I’m flattered he thinks I’m good enough for you. “ Jason snorts, and Dick rolls his eyes at the flatly frustrated tone Jason uses. “I’m guessing that’s Damian’s dad. Because of course it was too much to ask that no one else got through that summoning circle of Drake’s. So what exactly is your way? Wait until I’m too worn down to refuse you?”

“No. Well, sort of. I was going to wait. But, I was going to wait until you want it. For you to _ask_ for us to be together, not because everything else in your life has broken you down and you want to escape.” Dick cuts the ropes around Jason’s wrists, and sits back on his heels. “I need you to want it for yourself. So we can be together forever with no regrets. I don’t want you to resent me in a hundred years time because becoming a demon wasn’t what you really wanted.”

“Surprisingly accommodating of you.” Jason says, rubbing at his now free wrists, trying to ignore that the ropes had dug in and left burns in their place.

“I have time. I can wait as long as you need.” Dick shrugs, standing up and offering Jason his hand. “Bruce isn’t the patient type when it comes to who he considers family. Which is no excuse for taking you, but he was just trying to hurry things along, I guess.” Jason takes his hand and lets Dick help him up to his feet. He closes his eyes reflexively when he straightens up, trying to will away the pounding hammer at the back of his head.

“Well, that’s just great. He can explain that to Alfred then. At gunpoint. It’ll serve him right.” Jason rasps out. He wants a drink pretty badly right now. A drink and a smoke and to be at home, sitting in his chair, talking with Alfred, not needing to deal with any of this.

***

It’s taken Dick a good ten minutes to finally argue Bruce into letting Jason go, or at least for him to stop objecting to Jason being allowed to walk away, and it feels like it’s taken more like ten hours. Once Damian gives him back his guns, Jason starts to slowly edge away from the three demons towards the door. He’s made it to within twenty feet when it bangs open with force, nearly coming off its rusty hinges.

Alfred strides in, a shotgun in his hands, followed swiftly by Drake. Alfred brings the shotgun up to point the barrel at Bruce and Jason takes the opportunity to cross the distance towards them. Drake starts yelling the Lord’s Prayer at the demons who all look singularly unimpressed. Jason notices how Alfred’s fiercely determined face falls into a mix of horror and shock. At any other time, Alfred would be firing off a round or two by now, but he’s standing there frozen and Jason can’t imagine why. 

Bruce’s face breaks out into a snarl, his wings opening out to their full extension, flooding the warehouse with his demonic aura. The urge to drop their weapons is overwhelming. Their Exorcist training comes into play, meaning that they both grip their guns harder in response. 

“Richard, take Damian home, now.” Bruce orders, his voice dropping at least eight octaves while he glares at Alfred and Tim. Dick looks over to Jason, sorrow in his eyes, and Jason gets the sense he’s waiting for permission. Jason mouths ‘GO’ at him, and Dick tries to smile at him, but he can’t hold it. Dick grabs Damian’s arm and then reaches down to the floor, gripping it as if there were a trapdoor there. He jumps down through the portal he’s opened, pulling Damian in after him. With Dick and the kid gone, Jason feels more comfortable trying to fight Bruce.

Alfred’s still frozen and silent, and Tim’s frantically looking between the two of them for some guidance. Jason walks over to him and pats his shoulder, before stepping in front of them and drawing his guns. Jason breathes in deeply, exhaling slowly before lifting the barrels of Robin and Nightwing up to point directly at Bruce. They begin to light up, and as they do, Jason can hear a crackling noise. There’s a pop, not unlike being on a plane and you reach a new height of altitude, and it feels like the world has stopped. There’s no breeze, everything is silent, until Jason feels more than hears the heavy shoeless footfalls.

The very atmosphere is weighing on him, the sense that something not of this world is right behind him, something unknowable and ineffable. Something divine. It’s awe inspiring and terrifying. Every last shred of him wants to fall to his knees and cry in the face of the two angels flanking him on both sides. Jason doesn’t know if they’re there to support him, but if they are he _knows_ that he doesn’t deserve it. 

The taller of the two angels steps further forward, and the light emanating from him makes Jason’s eyes nearly close in self defence. It’s so bright, he knows that if he tries to look at it directly, he’ll be blinded. It takes nearly all the willpower he has not to throw his arm up to protect his eyes. 

“I am Kal-el. I am here to wipe the blight of the demon taint away from this place. Leave now, mortals and you shall be spared this day.” The angel’s voice reverberates in Jason’s skull, the sheer volume and command in it, one that brooks no disobedience, bringing a pain that Jason could have happily lived with never knowing. His wings and robe glow a harsh white, making it nearly impossible to see his face clearly, but Jason can make out that his hair looks pitch black. Bruce seems to be having less trouble with it however, and simply snarls back, angry and unaffected.

“I am Kon-el. Please, allow me to escort you to safety.” The shorter, younger looking angel says, voice pitched to be much gentler, clearly making an attempt to not dominate the mortals he’s facing. His wings and robe glow a soft warm gold, radiating peace and safety in contrast to the dark hair on his head, and the strong square jaw.

“No, no, we have to help Father Todd! We can’t just go.” Drake yells out, straining to get closer but not managing against the pressure of three immortal beings’ auras. Jason has to give it to the kid; he’s got guts to be yelling at an angel. Stupid but gutsy. But then the same and more could be said of Jason, too.

“I’ll be fine, kid. Get Father Pennyworth out of here. Please.” Jason says over his shoulder. There’s no need for everyone here to be involved in what could be the most explosive and damaging fight the mortal plane’s seen in a long time. 

“No, no, this is my fault! I can’t just run... please! Please!” Drake begs, and Jason turns to look at the boy, the hopeful look on his face tugs at something deep in Jason’s chest, but he knows he can’t say yes. Kon-el is lingering at Tim’s elbow, clearly waiting to get them out of there. The angel looks over to Jason and Jason thinks he might see admiration in the heavenly messenger’s eyes. The situation must be getting to him.

Jason mouths ‘GO’ at Kon-el, and he nods, stepping forward and wrapping his arms and wing around Alfred and Tim tenderly. There’s another pop of displaced air and Jason’s left alone with two beings of immense power. The powerful mixed auras are causing a pressure that should be driving him to his knees, head bowed and begging for salvation. Instead it’s just pissing him off beyond belief. They could both destroy him without breaking a sweat. The angel could probably do it without even needing to blink and Jason thinks that if this is how he’s going to die, well. He isn’t okay with that. Fuck them both for existing. Fuck the angels for not saving Dick from the Bifrons demon. Fuck them for messing with the people under his care. He’s going to fix this mess and damn them _both_ if they try to stop him.

Jason lifts his arms to put both angel and demon at gunpoint and the overwhelming anger is really the only thing keeping him on his feet. His body wants to crumple to the floor in fear, but he manages to stand tall, his outstretched arms both steady. 

“Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. You, demon, are going to go back to Hell. Since Dick and Damian are back there, you’ve no business topside, right? So leave.” Jason rasps out, voice commanding despite the damage. Bruce seems unmoved, but he also doesn’t argue back. “And you, angel, are going to go back to heaven without destroying this place. If there are no demons here, then you’ve got no business down here, right?”

“If the taint of Hell has been removed, then yes, we can leave this place untouched.” Kal-el inclines his head. “However my orders come from a higher place. I cannot do as you ask. You have no power over me.”

Jason snarls, and something that feels like a whisper goes through him, up his left arm, and almost without his permission, his finger squeezes on Robin’s trigger. The barrel lights up as the bullet shoots out, and it feels like time slows down as they all watch the shot leave the gun and embed itself in the wall just by Kal-el’s head. Time returns to normal as a scratch opens on Kal-el’s cheek, a thin trail of glowing gold liquid seeping out of the wound. Kal-el blinks, raising a hand to press against his cheek and then staring at the liquid on his fingertips. Jason had no idea that his guns could hurt the divine. The power in his hands is terrifying and he wants to recoil, throw them away from him and beg forgiveness, but he clenches his hands around the grips and reminds himself that so many more lives are at stake than just his own.

Bruce looks between them, and Jason can see the moment that Bruce decides that Kal-el is about to give Jason a righteous smiting and that unless he wants to fight an angel for his son’s boyfriend, then the best thing he can do is leave. A swirling portal opens at the slightest gesture from Bruce, a dark red light spilling out from it. Jason can see the tormented souls in the distance, and the screams of despair hang faintly in the air. A chill runs down his spine. With a dramatic sweep of his wings, the demon steps through the portal without a word, letting it close up behind him as if it were never there, leaving Jason to face down Kal-el alone. 

The angel is still looking at his hand, a faint frown marring his otherwise perfect features. Jason swallows, waiting for his reaction. Despite everything that’s just happened, he doesn’t want to take on the angel. That he can hurt him, can potentially kill him is actually not reassuring. It means that Kal-el has no reason to hold back against Jason if he does attack. Jason moves his arm, so that he’s pointing both Nightwing and Robin at him. The faint rustle of his jacket breaks Kal-el out of his thoughts and he looks up at Jason, unblinking.

“Your human weapons can damage me. I was not told that was possible. Only the most righteous may inflict hurt on angels. _Who are you, Jason Peter Todd, that you can?_ ” Kal-el clenches his bloody fist at his side and Jason’s breath catches in his chest, forcing his knees to lock so that they don’t go out from under him, the angel’s anger making him feel true terror. “The demon taint has been removed. I have no business here.” 

Before Jason can answer his question, Kal-el flaps his powerful wings and is gone. Stunned and trembling, Jason can only think of getting out of there. He stumbles his way outside of the warehouse and throws up as soon as the cool night air hits his overheated skin.

***

Once he finishes emptying his stomach, Jason starts walking. He’s not really paying attention to where he’s going; only trying to think that he needs to get to an area that’s more populated. The sounds and sights around him pass him by, leaving no impression on him. The cars rush by, their lights making Jason wince and narrow his eyes in response and the noisy conversation of the people he passes hurt his ears. Everything he sees is blurry and all he hears is distorted as if he’s underwater. It feels as though he’s drunk or drugged, but a distant part of his mind knows that he’s in shock, that the chill he feels and the tremors in his hands, and the way the world feels disjointed, as though it’s behind a wall of glass are simply the symptoms of someone having experienced something that they can barely comprehend.

Jason needs a drink or ten. Badly.

Time and distance pass without him noticing. Somehow he’s made it to the street where St Sebastian’s sits. He looks up to the spire on the roof and can only think of how welcoming and safe a beacon it is to him. Jason can feel tears threatening to spill down his cheeks at the sight of his home. Suddenly, there are hands at his elbows, and Jason flails, trying to throw them off. He looks around wildly and slowly, the people around him come into focus. 

Alfred and Stephanie and Tim have nothing but worry on their faces, and while he can’t make out the words, the rumbling of their words soothes him enough to let them help him inside the Rectory.

They push him into one of the kitchen chairs, and a hot mug of steaming tea is pressed into his hands. He wants to tell them that all he needs is a bottle of whiskey, but he realises that his throat hurts, almost as much as it did after he lost Dick to the Bifrons demon. Instead he sips at his tea and waits for the world to slip back into joint. It takes longer than he expects it to, but eventually Steph and Tim’s chatter turns into real words that Jason can understand, and he can see Alfred over at the counter top, stress baking. Jason sighs and sets his now cool mug down on to the table. His throat still hurts, but he feels up to speaking, at least.

“So that angel got you home.” Jason stares at the table top, not wanting to look up into any of their worried faces.

“I, yeah. He’s um, my guardian angel. I didn’t even know those were an actual thing...” Tim says, after a pause that means that he, Steph and Alfred probably shared worried looks before he spoke. “Um, he’s the reason I survived summoning Damian. He uh, interfered with the circle?”

“Apparently guardian angels aren’t meant to intervene? Which kinda makes them named wrong, doesn’t it? They should be watcher angels or something not guardians...” Steph trails off. “But, um not the time for semantics, I guess.” She has a sheepish look on her face and she pushes the plate of cookies closer to Jason in apology. Jason knew there was a reason he liked her.

“Mmm.” To be honest, Jason doesn’t really care if the angel’s got some sort of thing with Tim. He just wanted to prove he wasn’t completely rendered mute, he guesses. Alfred sets down whatever he was working on and sits down next to Jason.

“You’ll need to tell us what happened after we left. When you’re ready, of course.” Alfred says, resting his hand lightly on Jason’s. “However I think I owe you an explanation for why I froze earlier.”

“It’s alright, Alfred, really.” Jason swallows down a dry throat. “It happens to us all. No explanation required.”

“Usually I would agree, my boy. But there was a specific reason tonight.” Alfred sighs, and Jason looks up at him, and the words he’d been about to say to protest what ever Alfred wants to say die on his tongue at the guilt on Alfred’s face. “You see, I recognised the Prince of Hell we saw tonight. It appears that Damian’s father is in fact, someone I knew many years ago...” 

***

32 YEARS AGO:

Alfred’s parked under a streetlight, attempting to read his book in the low light while he waits for Mr and Mrs Wayne and young master Bruce to return from the movie theatre. He’s bracing himself for the excited chatter of the eight year old, who will no doubt need to recount nearly every moment from Zorro by acting it out in the backseat of the Rolls, by reading something less exuberant. While he found Tolkien’s prose in the Hobbit a touch dry, he’s enjoying the Silmarillion far more. In the distance he hears yelling, and Alfred, after years of active service, has put his book down and stepped out of the car before he’s even realised that he’s moved.

He can see the Waynes pressed up against the brickwork of a wall, Mrs Wayne cowering at the sight of some swirling mass of... well, Alfred doesn’t know. In all his years, he’s never seen anything like it. It’s like a living mist almost, bright red and pulsing. The aura of menace emanating from the thing is overpowering from where Alfred is standing. He can only imagine how terrifying it feels as close to it as the Waynes are. 

Alfred tries to move, run forward to where he employers are and pull them away from the horror in front of them, but he can’t move. He’s breathing hard and straining like he hasn’t done since he was on the frontlines. All he can do is blink and watch as Mrs Wayne is enveloped in that god awful red mist, screaming and pleading for rescue. Then it shifts over to Mr Wayne and leaves not a trace of Mrs Wayne behind except for a large darkening smear on the asphalt. Mr Wayne, to his credit, is shouting defiance at the mist, desperately trying to shield Bruce from what’s occurring, but it does no good and he is enveloped and disappeared as well within seconds. 

If Alfred wasn’t utterly paralysed he would be throwing himself in front of Bruce, doing his very best to save the young lad from the same fate that’s befallen his parents. But he’s frozen to spot, unable to do anything but watch as Bruce is staring down the evil that’s taken his parents in resigned silence, before he too is covered in the cloudlike monster. 

All of a sudden, the pressure that kept Alfred still is gone, and he stumbles forward, hands landing on the road surface before he regains his footing and runs towards the place his employers were.

All he finds is two large puddles of drying blood and one smaller puddle right next to them.

Alfred slumps to his knees, staring in horror at the slight remains of the Wayne family, clawing mindlessly at the smaller puddle as if he can pull Bruce back out of it. He has no idea how long he’s been kneeling there, hands covered in the drying blood, when the priest’s hand rests comfortingly on his shoulder.

***

Three days later finds Jason wrapped up in a blanket, sitting in the armchair in his room, listlessly staring out of his window. He hasn’t been sleeping and despite Steph’s pleading he hasn’t managed to eat in at all since coming back from the warehouse. The sun’s starting to set, and Jason has a good view of the lychgate from his window. There’s a knock at his door and Jason can’t find the energy to respond, even when he hears Stephanie’s voice from outside.

“Father Todd? I’ve left a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a cup of coffee out here for you. Please _try_ to eat something?” Sister Steph sighs and Jason can hear footsteps approaching his door.

“I take it you’ve had no more luck, my dear?” Alfred says, just loud enough for Jason to hear through his closed door.

“No. I’m starting to get really worried, Father. Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, call someone?” There’s a rustling of clothing and Jason pictures Steph leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a worried look on her face.

“Not quite yet, my child. We’ll give him another couple of days to come out of it. Meeting the divine has a way of shaking the foundations of even the strongest of beliefs. All those answers about the world that you previously had to take on faith now are much more... concrete.” Alfred says, and there’s a clinking of a bottle maybe, on to the tray on the side table.

“I guess there must be. I mean if angels exist why don’t they help us? I can see how that’d rock your world for the worse...” Steph trails off.

“Did I ever tell you of the time I met an angel? Perhaps that will answer some of your questions, my dear.” Alfred says.

“Oh, yeah! Please. I’ll even put the tea on!” Steph enthuses, and Jason can imagine her sunny smile at the offer.

“Tea? Oh, Sister, no. For this conversation we’ll need something stronger. Vodka.” Alfred says, his voice fading as he walks away.

“Vodka?” a laugh is startled out of Steph as she follows him away, and Jason’s not surprised. The few times he’s ever seen Alfred drink it’s always been vodka.

Apparently a summer of his misspent youth had involved learning how to drink from the natives in Finland, and ever since it’s been vodka neat or nothing for him.

Night’s fully fallen and as Jason stares out through the panes of glass, he sees the faint glow of Dick’s eyes as he approaches the lychgate. He gets the feeling that Dick’s staring up at his window, waiting for him to come down and talk to him. Jason closes his despondent eyes and wills his hands not to shake. He doesn’t even try to move from the chair. 

***

In the end, Jason forces himself out of his doldrums and his room after a week. It’s clear to everyone that something’s still not right with him, and the half-hearted smiles he’s been giving out in an attempt to stop everyone from worrying are not working as well as he hopes they will. There’s really not much he can do except try to keep going, doing all the little things in life that he’s meant to. But the yawning hole inside him, the one that up until now he’s managed to cover with his mission and faith, is getting larger and he can no longer hide how empty he feels from everyone around him.

It’s been another long week of running on empty; he took the funeral of Mrs McNulty on autopilot, managing to throw in a few slightly off colour comments purely to see Mr McNulty smile, which staved off the growing apathy within him for a while. So when he sees Dick leaning on the lychgate one night around four in the morning, about two weeks after the warehouse, he’s not surprised at all. He wanders out to the gate in t-shirt, sweats and slippers, hair still damp from his early morning shower and scruff on his jaw from where he hasn’t bothered to shave in weeks. He stops a step or two from the wooden barrier, hands hanging uselessly at his sides.

“Oh, Jason. I’m so glad you came.” Dick says, none of the usual purr in his voice. His eyes are rimmed in red; his hair’s an uncombed mess. He looks like Jason feels.

“You always are, Dickie. What brings you here tonight?” Jason says, not even trying to hide how tired he is.

“I missed you. I needed to know how you were. I hated leaving you like that.” Dick says, biting his lip and looking up at Jason through his lashes. For once, Jason can tell, it’s not a put on look to remind him of the vulnerable human he’d loved. Dick really is feeling that raw over him.

“Uh huh. If this is another or your attempts to corrupt me, I gotta warn you, baby, it’s going to work.” Jason rasps, his throat fighting to get out each word. Dick blinks at him, eyes slowly filling with blood red tears.

“Jason...” Dick whispers, distraught. Jason’s heart clenches almost as painfully as his throat. “No. No, I didn’t come here for that.” Dick leans over the gate as far as he dares; arms outstretched waiting for Jason to step into them. Jason considers staying where he is for a split second before his body moves to get what it needs. Jason’s arms wrap tightly around Dick’s waist, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Dick’s neck, and around the base of Dick’s wing. Dick folds his arms around Jason’s shoulders and back just as tightly. 

There’s a wet heat on his shoulder as Dick’s tears land on his t-shirt, staining it a bright red. The heat is little bit uncomfortable, itchy and inherently wrong, but Jason ignores it. Dick needs this, and Jason has to give it to him. Old habits rear their heads and Jason finds himself sweeping his hands up and down Dick’s back comfortingly as Dick lets out the painful, messy emotions that have been plaguing him since he left Jason in the warehouse in heaving sobs and burning tears. Dick seems to be trying to shake himself apart in Jason’s arms, and all Jason wants to do is fix it, so he never ever has to see Dick like this again. 

It seems to him that Dick’s constantly trying to take care of Jason despite his stubborn insistence that he’s fine. Whenever Jason feels low, Dick appears at the lychgate to buoy him up for another week or two, with a few simple touches and an unyielding devotion that Jason feels he doesn’t deserve. There’s so little that Jason can do for Dick in return. Sure, he doesn’t shoot him and send him back to hell on sight, and through quiet conversations with Alfred where they’ve danced around the actual subject matter, he’s persuaded the older priest to if not do the same, then to at least hold off until Jason arrives. It’s not enough, Jason knows. But it’s all he can do, unless he breaks his vows. And despite everything, even the angels appearing to shake his belief in all he knew, he’s still not truly ready to do that.

“Dickie, I...” Jason’s voice gives out entirely. It’s probably just as well, given he has no idea what he wants to say beyond ‘I love you’. 

“Shush. It’s alright, Jay, I’ve got you. Damn, you still feel like a volcano, y’know? Hush now, I’ve got you.” Dick murmurs into his ear, voice thick with his tears, and Jason drops his head to rest on Dick’s arm, soaking in the heat and life of him as much as he can. Dick’s wings unfold under his fingers, wrapping them in their own private world while Jason fights to breathe through the constriction in his throat. Jason loses track of time as they stand there, caught in each other’s gravity. It feels like an entire lifetime goes by in between a blink of an eye and another. Eventually Dick’s wings unfold around them, settling back against his back and Jason forces his heavy head to lift. “Feeling better?”

“Some.” Jason says, and it feels like he’s swallowed gravel, but something in his chest has lightened. “You?” 

“Much better, thank you, and good. Because I can see Father Pennyworth standing in the kitchen window, and I get the feeling that if I stay here any longer it’ll be a mistake.” Dick says, smiling at Jason fondly. “I mean usually I don’t run from father figures with a shotgun, but well...” Jason snorts at the half assed joke.

“Aww, am I not worth the shotgun pellets being dug out of your ass? I feel very insulted here.” Jason leans back, fingers itching to hold Dick again, but feeling steadier than they have in weeks.

“Shotgun pellets are _not_ what I want dug out of my ass, thank you.” Dick sniffs, mock offended. “I prefer a much larger calibre, if you know what I mean. And I know you do. I have so many good memories of it.”

“Sorry, my mistake.” Jason grins, giving in to temptation and tucking a lock of Dick’s hair behind his ear. “But then all my mistakes were made for you, so...” Jason’s interrupted by the kitchen door pointedly being opened and left to bang loudly against the wall. “So, I guess you better run, baby.”

Dick steps back, smile burning bright as his eyes, and turns on his heel singing that old song softly. “The earth breaks, it falls and set your beat, I find myself swallowed, drowning in your heat, as long as we're going down, baby you should stick around, baby you should stick around...” Jason watches him rush down the street, knowing it won’t be too long before he sees his hurricane again.


End file.
